Rose Garden
by Chibikat the Canuck
Summary: In the solitude of the rose garden, Tatewaki Kuno ponders his place in life. (yaoi hintage)


**Disclaimer:** The characters in this, of course, do not belong to me. I am not Rumiko Takahashi. I never will be Rumiko Takahashi. Ranma 1/2 was created by Rumiko Takahashi. Thus, the creation was not by my hand. It's all a lie, I tells ya… 

**Author's Notes:** I really like to write Kuno soliloquies. O_o I can't explain it… I just like to write Tatewaki. He's an interesting character with more depth than people give him credit for, methinks, and he needs to be explored. So fwah, here I am, doin' that. Thank you very much to Naomi and SV, who continuously support me writings and make me feel all proud and such. ^_^ Oh, and thank you Firewind, because you always manage to give psychological insight into characters that I would never think of. You guys rock. 

**Rating**: PG-13, just because of the subject matter. *shrugs* Alcohol use, the subject matter, allusions to violence and child abuse. Kids won't like this. ^^;

All that aside, I hope you enjoy… 

**//~Rose Garden~// **

~*~ 

Please, please forgive me,

But I won't be home again.

Maybe someday you'll have woken up,

And, barely conscious, you'll say to no one: 

"Isn't something missing?" 

You won't cry for my absence, I know - 

You forgot me long ago. 

Am I that unimportant...?

Am I so insignificant...?

Isn't something missing? 

Isn't someone missing me? 

~Evanescence, "Missing"

~*~ 

For all the riches that I possess and the sheer magnitude of the materialism and commerce that my name has come to embrace and encompass, I am still much more fascinated by the simple and free pleasures that nature has to offer. My eyes, temporarily reverting to the innocence that only a child can possess, drink in the splendor of the night that enshrouds my being, covering my body like a protective blanket. 

I step out onto the semi-damp grass, feeling the blades of it poke between my toes and caress my bare feet with their droplets of dew. Despite the warmth of the air, I shiver a bit as I slowly walk forward into the wide expanse of our backyard. Dotting the area are various types of green, leafy trees, their old branches reaching high into the sky, expanding towards the ocean of springtime night. Though, technically, the trees are inanimate objects, they are indeed alive; as such, they also have their own sort of ambience. Sometimes, when I am alone on a quiet night, much like I am right now, I can feel what the aura is, exactly - the trees, old and made wise by time, are full of vitality and purpose. Such strength in something that began so small, so very long ago; yet, of course, they are silent.

Continuing to walk amidst the stillness of the dark, I exhale my breath softly. Normally on a night of this month, I would easily be able to see water vapor escape my mouth in a cumulus puff, only to waft upwards until disappearing from sight completely. However, indeed it is unusually warm outside, and I certainly do not mind.

Ever forward I go as I bring the bottle to my lips, feeling the terribly familiar taste of bitter alcohol pass over my tongue and down my throat, my body distributing the poison through my veins. I haven't had enough to drink yet to get me thoroughly and damnably drunk (currently I'm starting my fifth bottle). However, my limbs have begun to feel slightly weighted, and my mind… well, it is not turning into a happy mush. Hardly ever does the drink grant me that sort of release; and yet, it seems to be the one thing I turn to for solace. 

I sigh gently, continuing across the grass, the very feeling of my bare feet on the soft grass filling me with a strange sort of youthfulness. While they say that liquor loosens the tongue, I find that it has the opposite effect on me; that is to say, it shuts me up something fierce. I realize that I have the amazing capacity to ramble on without coherence or meaning; to myself, the speaker, and party B, the listener. When I imbibe the laughably cheap stuff currently in my hand, it seems to turn my tongue to lead. Maybe this is a good thing, and something I should try to practice in other facets of my life. 

Perhaps, perhaps not; for when I speak the way I do, I force my concentration to be on the slew of words that I spout, rather than the oftentimes dangerous trains of thought that chug along through my brainpan, unrelenting. As empty and laughably vacuous that my mind may seem to be to those around me, I know that, indeed, it is not. If I were truly as empty-headed as those who know me believe me to be, then nothing would I have to ponder, want, fear, or painfully recall.

It would be better that way, I believe; to simply be a walking shadow of a person, to not have any true thoughts of my own, or memories of all that I have been through. It would be so much less work to be a vapid idiot, without any knowledge of true suffering or pain, nor true love or family. It would be so much easier to live my life as such.

However, I cannot. It is simply impossible.

I take another drink of the bottle in my hand, still walking forward. The gentle breeze of the night gently strokes my skin, and I close my eyes; the trees sing as they rustle in night, watched over by the ever-present moon that hangs bright against the cloak of night. Pools of soft grey re-open, and I can see the rays of moonlight that fall softly across the expanse of my backyard, illuminating the nature and beauty with an iridescent, ethereal glow. Truly, it is lovely. 

I cannot help but think that my very presence in the midst of this natural splendor blemishes it, making perfection nothing but tragically tainted beauty. Maybe I am overreacting, and my standing in my own yard has not disrupted the space-time continuum, or something equally absurd. Though I could be wrong. 

Sighing gently, I make my way over to where the koi pond is, nestled comfortably in a small semi-circle of rose bushes. Another oddity presents itself to me as I note that roses have not only begun to bud on the bushes, but some have begun to blossom. I squint my eyes, looking at them with semi-fuzzy vision; surprisingly, a few of the roses are fully bloomed, a startling red against the black of the night, which seemed to only be getting darker. I turn my attention to the heavens once more; indeed, clouds have begun to move in, eating up the stars that stand steadfastly in their wake. 

The stars, they fade and blink out of existence as what looks to be a storm continues to slowly cover the sky, much like an infectious disease; the process is slow, yet it is most definitely not slowing down. The clouds creep up on the unsuspecting sky, quietly and deliberately spreading over the sea of black without word or warning. The beautiful stars are devoured by the swirling mounds of ugly grey, paralyzing the sky, feeding off the rays of moonlight that fall onto the greenery around me. 

So ugly, these dark, foreboding clouds are - comically enough, they're nearly the same colour as my eyes. Amazing, what alcohol can help you realize; indeed, intoxication was one of Kami's true gifts to all of creation.

I turn my churning, storm cloud eyes to the koi pond; I barely realize that I'm standing at the edge of it, and in my state of nearly-there drunkenness, it is a very real possibility that I am going to fall into said pond soon if I don't step away from the rocks around it. I back up, blinking heavily; my movement has started to become sluggish since my last few swigs of the drink in my hand, and I swear that I can feel the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream. Always such a damn good feeling, that.

Rather clumsily, I trip over a conveniently placed rock, my heel catching the edge of it. Without so much as a cry of surprise, I fall backwards, landing hard against the ground; I wince as this happens, and I kick the rock in spite. I am in my bare feet. It… is not a good idea.

I bite my lip as my foot connects against the rock, pain cutting through my half-drunken stupor like a scalpel through flesh. Laying my head against the cool ground, my eyes are scrunched closed as the nerve endings in my toes sing with blasphemous hymns, and I try curling them in order to shut them up. It does not work.

Sighing shakily, the pain very slowly beginning to fade, I open my pale, bluish-grey eyes; I am forced to see the washed painting of heaven above. The stark, intriguing black is engulfed by the dull, if not unsettling grey, which is sure to bring thunder.

And there is my namesake. My eyes and self-proclaimed title, brought on by the clouds I am currently despising with all my being. Gods but the irony would floor me if not for the fact I was already on my back. 

I stare up at the storm clouds, knowing that rain and lightning will be forced upon the surface of the earth, and if I stay outside much longer, I will end up being cold, wet, and miserable. Of course, if I go inside, I will merely be dry, drunk and miserable, so in the end, I am not sure if I should care. I will still be able to hear my personage boom across the vicinity of Nerima; for a moment, it may or may not shake the homes that litter this prefecture, but after that, it will fade into nothingness. The thunder will make its bursting mark, and disappear from all memory and worry within moments.

I am wondering if I need psychiatric help right now. This is when I realize that I am already getting such help in the form of blessed alcohol. Gods I am pathetic. Sometimes, I cannot help but wonder what Sasuke thinks of my own version of Prozac - I am fairly certain that he does not approve of it, and I might even go as far to say that he is worried about me. Then again, that is his job; he worries about the intricacies of our laughably small and dysfunctional family unit so that he has a roof over his head at night. 

I remember one day at school not too long ago; I was having a particularly rough day, and it involved pain in some way, shape or form. Most people my age would do something constructive if feeling bogged down by a problem - write, draw, talk the problem out, beat the living daylights out of something/one, etc. However, those methods have never quite worked for me as well as bittersweet liquor - I managed to call Sasuke, and instructed him to bring me one of my larger bottles of sake to school, under the guise of it being "sauce".

He, of course, did as I asked him to; as his master, it is his duty to perform such tasks. I don't think he liked it, though. I could tell that he was silently reprimanding me for indulging in such things; he disapproved, but there was nothing that he could really do, so he simply and silently stared at me for a moment. Yet, there was also pity held in his expression.

For you see, that was the day that my father returned. In a sense, the great tragedy of my father leaving was my great blessing; Kocchi, gods but she missed him, but my reaction to his departure was much, much different. 

I was damned happy. This isn't to say that it wasn't at all hard on me, though; it was very painful to see Kocchi so sad for so long. I cannot fathom why, but my little sister loved - loves - our father very deeply, and he left when she needed him the most.

It is safe to say that my father beat me. Very safe to say. The scars that litter my body in frighteningly strategic areas are more than enough proof of this; he would start by "training" me in kendo, and soon, it degraded to nothing but a session for him to take out his aggressions on my relatively weak self. I think he enjoyed it, too; gods, there were some nights where I could not even move after he was finished. I think there are still bloodstains on the walls and floor of the dojo. 

He never laid a finger on Kodachi. If he did, I would have killed him myself, no matter how bloody or bruised I would have been. I am immensely glad that my little sister was spared such cruel torment, yet I am also filled with such jealousy at her blissful ignorance of what occurred. 

She never even suspected anything of my father (her idol) when I could not play with her due to my extensive wounds and stays in the hospital. Her innocent mind was simply incapable of linking her daddy to the multitude of disfigurements on her beaten and steadily reclusive older brother. 

My father single-handedly managed to break whatever sort of self-esteem I had; all my dignity, all of my hopes, all of my securities were washed down the shower drain with the blood from my wounds. How could I ever let Kocchi see such a thing occur? How could I let her watch her strong, proud elder brother crumble into a pile of timidity and fear? 

It was not an option. I managed to become such a good actor; behind my guise, I could shield my broken loneliness from the world, and present the loud, arrogant Tatewaki Kuno that everyone knows. 

I am not sure if mama wanted Kocchi to know about my slow decomposition, either. Mama seemed to protect Kocchi that way; she wanted to preserve her purity, to keep her ignorance as bliss. Both Mama and I were victims to my father's anger and displeasure.

Gods, the day she died… 

I blink a few times, trying to push that one memory out of my mind. I continue stare upwards, my field of vision covered entirely by the drooping, bleak puffs of floating rainwater. I sit up a bit, taking another hearty swig of the imported Canadian beer in my hand (Molson something?); nowadays, it takes so much of such concentrated liquor in order for me to be able to feel at least slightly buzzed. Damn my tolerance level. 

The air is very still, and the night is so quiet. In the distance somewhere, a dog his howling at the dark clouds that cover the skies tonight; I suppose the animal can sense the impending storm as well. As still as the air is, it has become weighted down with the distinct dampness that only a thunderstorm can bring. I feel no immediate desire to get up from the grassy bed I'm on in order to search for shelter; I suppose this could be laziness, but it also wouldn't feel right if I did get up and walk inside my house.

After all, thunder signals the coming of rain. I might as well face what I bring. 

I feel so lonely. The thought is so sudden and powerful, such a shock to my system; usually, I'm detached enough to acknowledge the fact that I have no friends without truly worrying about it much. It is easy for me to distract myself with something - namely kendo, Akane Tendo, the Pigtailed Girl, and Ranma Saotome. I squirm uncomfortably as his name ghosts within the confines of my mind. Ranma. I hate him, yet I do not. I hate how he has such beautiful and devoted women who follow him around, hoping to gain his attention and love; why does he ignore them the way he does? Why is he wasting something as precious as love? Even my sister chases him around, doting on him, willing to do anything - *anything* - just so he will so much as glance sideways at her. I continue to tell my sister of how much I loathe and despise her object of affection, but… 

I take another long, hard drink of the beer bottle in my hand. Deep down, I know I'm a hypocrite for what I say to my baby sister, to Ranma, and to myself. I don't loathe and despise him.

I'm jealous.

I laugh humourlessly to myself; ah, but why would the great Tatewaki Kuno, richest man in all of Nerima, captain of the kendo team, be jealous of a boy who is obviously financially challenged, uneducated, brash and arrogant?

Perhaps not so jealous of *him.* 

Gods, at this very moment, he is probably fighting with Akane Tendo; such trivial arguments they have, but at least they talk with each other. At least he cares enough to acknowledge her existence; he doesn't brush her aside and dismiss her as too weak and stupid for his attention.

No. He cares about what happens to her; when she is missing, he worries about her. When she is sad, he tries to figure out what's wrong and amend the situation. No matter how undeserving she is of *his* attention, she gets it. On the island with Toma, no matter how much he prattled on about finding a cure for his curse, when push came to shove, he chose Akane Tendo over his own needs, no matter how she spurned him. 

If I were in such a situation with him, would he have done the same for me? I smirk, still looking upwards at the grey behemoth that is now the sky. Of course he would not - what am I but a nuisance, a pain in his side? Perhaps for an instant, he will see me as a challenge, and for that one instant, I believe myself to have meaning. 

Ranma Saotome is a much more complicated creature than I once believed him to be; once, I only saw him as a challenger for the hand of Akane Tendo, the most popular girl of the school, the spirited one who could not be tamed. 

Then he defeated me. I had a lot to drink that night.

The boy presented an enigma of sorts to me - there he was, so able in martial arts, and so obviously engaged to Akane. He claims to hate her, and yet he will still protect her. With his unerring optimism, vibrant energy, ferocious spirit, and his title of hero, I am able to understand why all those women would want him, despite his obvious ignorance to their love. 

Eventually, he will choose one of them, and I will be left to profess my love to his red-haired shadow. Never will he take me seriously, and never will he see me as his equal. 

"I am your spaniel," I whisper to nothing, a tiny smile creeping onto my face, "and the more you beat me, I shall fawn you." Drunken Shakespeare. The dead poet would be rolling in his grave. 

A drop of rain lands squarely between my eyes, which reflect the storm clouds of the sky. It is soon followed by another drop of water, and another, and another; moments later, a torrential downfall assaults my being, plastering my yukata and hakama to my body. My bangs fall into my eyes with the water, running down my face. Lightning thrashes across the sky, bright and beautiful, if only for mere seconds.

Somewhere, near or far, the boy I hate is becoming the woman I love, and I know that it is safe to put my heart on the line. As much as he rejects my worship and devotion, I know that he will never truly scorn me, as long as I keep my façade of stupidity and ignorance. If he were to truly reject me, I do not know what I would do. 

So we will fight. I will see my father, and he shall maintain the fear deep within my heart. My mother will continue to be only a ghost in the halls. My sister shall continue to despise myself and love Ranma, but I will still protect her. Here I shall sit, cold and alone in the rain, with no one to consider me.

And so life will go on. 

~*~*~*~ 

Yeah… that was…weird. O_o Um, I hope you liked it. XD; Reviewing makes my life a wonderful place. Please, please leave comments, constructive criticism, praise, etc. I'd like to know what y'all thought. Thanks once again! ~Chibikat 


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